Skyrim: The Last Good Bandit
by theurbanmormont
Summary: Former bandit Aiima Fairchild, after being beaten and left for dead, escapes from prison and embarks on a journey to her former camp to take revenge. Hunted by the Empire, Aiima must covertly take down anyone in her path preventing her from reaching her goal including her former lover Vilkas and two stragglers she meets on the road. OFC Original Storyline with canon characters
1. Captured

******A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first fanfic and the idea popped into my head after my play through of Skyrim today. It was so good I just had to write it. This chapter and the next are going to seem a little slow but it's the third chapter when our real adventure starts.**

******To clear up any confusion, when I said in the summary that this story was an original storyline, it features well known characters established in the Skyrim canon and it takes place literal days after the Helgen dragon attack at the start of the game and the Dragonborn's story is running alongside Aiima's. Who knows, perhaps we'll see a glimpse of the Dragonborn... **

******Skyrim and the Elder Scrolls series do not belong to me, but Aiima Fairchild and any other OC's I include are mine. Also big warning for swearing, filth, gore and a lot of injuries because personally I think Skyrim gameworld is a little too tame and I need to spice it up a little.**

_Blood. There was blood everywhere. _

Aiima stumbled through the darkness of the night, hands reaching out in the blindness for something to hold onto for support. Pain shot through her like needles with every twist and turn of her body, as she staggered through what she supposed was a field. Grass tickled her frail ankles and rocks bit into the soles of her feet, the undergrowth tearing at everything below her knees like a dog with a bone.

Her dress or moreover what was left of her dress was horribly damp and it clung to her like a second skin. The dampness was both water and what she guessed was blood, soaking and swirling together to create patterns on her creamy, broken skin. Sores were opened everywhere, and even the follicles of her hair hurt.

_They used knives..._

In her hand was a dagger, with short wooden handle and a blunt blade. It was still useful but the darkness served her no advantage as she sliced and cut the air blindly, searching desperately for the people who had assaulted her so savagely, so without cause, and left her in this field.

She had no sense of time and day. Her captors had grabbed her from her camp and bundled her into a cart rendering her useless. Blindfolded and gagged, she had to endure a painstakingly long journey from her camp to this field with what she guessed was a wolf in the cart with her, breathing into her ear, teeth against her face and whining softly whenever the cart jolted over the roads of Skyrim. When they'd finally stopped and dragged her out, they'd pulled her hair. For hours it seemed, they'd tormented her. She could still feel the ghost of their honeyed words as her skirt was torn beneath her and their fingers on her thighs and she could still feel the knife in her back, brushing almost sensually against the skin. She could still hear the accusations they threw at her, demanding where on earth _it _was and why she wouldn't just give them _it. _She'd had no idea what they were talking about.

Aiima had tried to fight back at first. She was a bandit and she was a fighter at heart. A lucky punch here, a kick there whenever they strayed for too long. But the journey had taken leave of her senses. She'd been tied to a chair for so long that her balance was askew and she seemed to dangerously teeter on the edge of collapsing every few seconds or so.

_Bastards..._

Words viler then the Thalmor dripped from her tongue like treacle but her voice was stolen from her. Their final assault had been, in no other words, a completely unrelenting rainfall of violence and she was the unfortunate victim. Blood seemed to trickle like a river from every single pore. They'd slashed at her back and front, cut parts of her off, scalped her hair and pulled her out her fingernails. They'd carved their initials into her back, and just threw her to the soft, muddied floor and flayed into her with their hands, feet, teeth and weapons.

Aiima was not a religious women but she had not said much in those traumatic hours from repeated prayers to the Eight and the forbidden Talos, to the Daedraic princes, even to all of the dead monarchs of Tamriel she could name. And each time they had answered with another savage assault that rendered her inert of even thought.

Aiima dropped to her knees, all of the fight drained out of her. She could not even crawl she was so weak. It had been too long since she had seen a hot meal and Nord mead. She'd been living on bugs and dirtied water. She hadn't slept in days. She felt herself drifting in the land of Sovngarde, the honoured afterlife of her race and as her eyes closed she felt them welcoming her with the song of the warriors, telling her not to be afraid.

Sleepiness overcome her and her warning instinct took off like a bird. _Don't fall asleep, please don't fall asleep. _

"Come child."Her father was speaking to her. By the Nine, he was alive! There was a smoothness to his skin that felt so real. She felt his warm embrace, his solid body and that smell of fatherly warmth again. She was in Heaven, she was in Paradise, she was in Sovngarde!

That was when the guards found her.

* * *

"This woman was found in our wilderness? What on earth happened to her?"

Aiima felt herself swim into her subconscious and unfortunately, she was not in the warriors hall in Sovngarde being greeted by her uncles and father. Gladly however she was not dead. She was on her knees, her arms held up by two soldiers in a wooden hall. Brightly lit candles hurt her eyes as she cracked them open. In her immediate line of brief vision, a stone step rose a singular throne-like green chair above her, signalling to her that this chair was incredibly important. Behind that on the wall was mounted dead mudcrabs and hollowed mammoth tusks on the wall, holding candles that dripped wax across the cold cobblestone floor. Above the chair, flags of green unfurled on the wall and drifted in a drought that Aiima could feel across her bare legs. Along the walls were mounted deer and bear heads, that seemingly were frozen in the jaw-opening roars they were slayed in.

Aiima could smell a horrible stench, death, sweat and rotting flesh. It wasn't until later she realized the stench that could curl toes was her. Her wounds were festering. If she didn't get medical attention within the next hour or so she would probably die.

Perhaps it was not the chair that was important, moreover the woman sitting on it. A bored looking woman gazed down on Aiima from the chair, dressed in expensive furs and jewellery, flanked by a bearded steward with a strong sword strapped to his hips and a glaring housecarl built like a bear.

"We do not know, Jarl." One of the soldiers, the one to her left said. "We believe she was raped and all of her belongings were stolen. From the looks of her, it seems she was tortured for a very long time."

"A bandit raid?" The woman asked, raising a sharp eyebrow whilst never taking her eyes of the sad pathetic mess of an Aiima that was submitting in front of her.

"Possibly."

The woman, or the Jarl drew her breath in and sighed loudly. She flicked her wrist and the two soldiers dragged Aiima forward, dropping her onto the first step. The movement punctuated a gasp out of Aiima and inwardly she cursed.

In the few moments between opening her eyes and noticing the banners and the emblem used on them, Aiima realized she was in Highmoon Hall, in the presence of Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. Bruised and battered, her wounds concealed her identity for the moment. But the moment they healed or the blood was cleared away, they would realize who she was.

_Shit_.

Aiima did not identify as a thief. She preferred the term bandit, as it opened her skill set as wide range of options. Thieves were limited in Skyrim, having their own rules and their own moral codes which was rather laughable since a moral code did not protect you from capture. Thieves just did the moral code so they could sleep at night in the safe knowledge that although they had stolen money that could buy food and reducing a family to stealing and starvation, they had not directly cut their throats therefore they were morally 'clean'. Personally, Aiima judged her lifes killing on that question; would I rather steal money from a family and reduce them to a slow death of starvation, or just outright slit their throats then take their money? Surely it was the kinder option.

Although her reasoning was rather absurd, it helped her justify her bloody past. She loved being a bandit. The songs they sung, the comradeship between her group. They didn't have to pay taxes, they took what the needed when they needed and for a bandit, all it took was daring, nerve and a little bit of blind luck to be richer then the Emperor himself.

Bandits could not be hired – they weren't mercenaries - but they did sometimes forge alliances with other camps. Another camp in Riften had approached them, with the plan to steal the Morthal Crown but no figure little enough and unassuming enough to carry it off. But they'd heard the sweet tales of Aiima's plights, the men she had seduced and the jewels they had acquired. So they entailed her.

The job was easy. Sneak in at night, slit the throat of the watchman on duty and take the crown. It was an ugly crown to Aiima, fat and heavy and designed like a deers' antlers, made of gold and insert rubies atop the teeth that dug into the scalp. But it was valuable. They'd shared the money equally, said good day and bought new weapons to scale the Khajiit caravans the next month.

"Easy gentleman." The Jarl said, as Aiima attempted to breathe through her mouth and ignore the shooting pains up her side. "She is not a criminal just a poor victim."

Jarl Idgrod ascended the throne and knelt by Aiima's side; Aiima shied away from her and winced as her hand grasped her chin, brushing past a painful cut.

"I will not hurt you dear. I want to help. Tell me your name."

The offer was tempting but Aiima couldn't speak, frozen with fear. Also she couldn't speak because the people who'd attacked her had cut the corners of her mouth, making opening it rather painful.

As the Jarl sighed again and raised herself to her feet, Aiima glanced down at herself. The dress was torn as if she'd been attacked by a wild sabre cat, and it was so soaked in blood she could swear the original colour was red. She could taste blood in her mouth, and see the dried blood that had trickled down her legs. She was in bad shape. The Jarl gestured for the guards to return to their posts then turned to her housecarl.

"Nothing from the Nine, my Jarl?" Aiima fought off a laugh, half because it was rude and half because it would hurt; Jarl Idgrod pretended she had a direct link to the Gods, who told her of visions and helped her rule Morthal.

"They are silent. I feel however a strange... sourness to this girl." Aiima froze. Perhaps she wasn't batshit insane. "She is not pure."

_Could the woman actually smell the crown on her?_

The steward, the bearded man, with the incredibly muscular arms actually growled and wrenched Aiima to her feet. She screamed, the pain flying through her arm at the speed of lightening on a warm stormy day.

The housecarl nodded at the steward and stepped forwards. "Perhaps we should- my Jarl! Look! The mark on her head!"

Aiima had a small, septim sized scar on her forward, that coiled around itself. It was her defining mark, a souvenir of a tragedy stricken childhood she didn't want to talk about. It was also the mark always outlined on her wanted posters. They usually exaggerated it's colour and curling shape, yet people always recognized her by it.

The steward stopped flinging Aiima about and pulled her down, scraping back her barely-there hair to show the Jarl Aiima's forehead. Still screaming, the Jarl looked down and gasped theatrically.

"It is Aiima Fairchild, the thief of the Morthal Crown."

_Fuck._

The steward pulled back his fist and let it fly into Aiima's face, knocking her out for the second time in less then minutes.

**A/N If you're reading this then wow you made it to the end. Go get yourself a cookie for well done. Thank you so much for reading. **

**If you'd like to get in to contact with me quicker, I have a Tumblr and you can send me an ask or a fanmail regarding a question you want answered or anything. Feedback and constructive criticism will be eagerly accepted. URL is thespookyurbanmormont followed by the dottumblrdotcom thingy. **


	2. Escape!

**A/N: Hello again! A new update quite soon, I know it's amazing! I've just been writing A LOT for this.**

**Again I own nothing of the Skyrim verse. Only things that belong to me is Aiima and any other OC's**

"You know, I'm sure the Jarl would be very angry to learn you're starving the prisoners."

It was one of the first words Aiima had said in hours and she was shocked at how rough her voice sounded. The usual low, lyrical tones of her voice which her old friends described as 'sensual' were akin to one a grandmother would use to soothe a wailing babe or a warrior would use to charge into battle.

After the steward had punched her lights out, Aiima was dragged into a cell and given a scratchy cloth tunic with an actual rope to tie the waist to wear. It was simplistic prison cell wear, and something Aiima had donned before with a brief stint in her hometown's prison. A stony faced maid had came in a few hours ago and sluiced most of the blood from her face off, and handed her half a bottle of Nord mead which she'd drank in two seconds flat and sweetly shook the bottle for more; that action had earned a disgusted slap from the maid.

The guard, an imposing man with a constant snarling action to his voice, kicked the bars of the prison cell in response.

"Be quiet, wench."

Sighing, Aiima retreated into the far corner of the cell. In the deepest bowels of Morthal, a prison room was built into the underground. It was an impressive room, situated in the left wing of the guard barracks of Morthal. The upstairs room was where the guards slept, ate and changed shifts to watch the prison below. The downstairs was a wide room meant for a guard to stand watch at the jail and eat and drink comfortably without any friends, with the actual prison at the back of the room. The wrought iron gates could withstand a guards steel-toed kick and the bars were impossible to maneuver through unless you were a four year old child. She'd tried and managed only to get her torso stuck halfway in the bars, whereupon the guard had noticed what she was doing and booted her back into the jail, opening a fresh pain in her ribs. It was a wide empty room, as empty as Aiima's stomach and the only creature comforts were a flat out rug made of cow hide, which stunk the room up. The floors were cold, the wood rotting and Aiima was disgusted at the fact they hadn't cleaned up the previous tenants blood, which lay in an inconspicuous pool in the corner.

"_Tell us where it is!"_

Aiima had only her thoughts for company. And what cheerful thoughts they were.

Lamenting on her horrific experiences in the cart and in the field, Aiima learnt three things from her usually reliable memory.

One was the two men wanted to find something they believed was in Aiima's possession or she knew whereabouts it was.

This _it _they continually asked her for was intriguing. Aiima spent many hours pondering over what _it_ might be. Valuable, of course. This was obvious. Valuable enough for someone for two men to kidnap a female who may or may not have _it _and torture her to no end. Once these two men had realized Aiima had no knowledge of what it was, they'd left her in a field with no knowledge of where she was and gave her a dagger to defend herself from any of the wilderness.

In this knowledge that they'd left her with something to defend herself suggested another piece of knowledge that she had learned. Two, the men were mercenaries who had been hired by someone.

This was clear. They had attacked her savagely but it wasn't personal; they had been intent on getting information out of her, not reveling in her pain. The raping, the torturing, the constant barreling of violence were all weapons to get her to reveal the location of _it._ If this was personal, Aiima would've been dead after a longer torturing session.

Which lead her to knowledge number three; the people who had hired the mercenaries were obviously either a member of her old bandit camp or all of her bandit camp.

She'd reached this conclusion after remembering one of the men mentioning the raid on another bandit camp in the Rift that had failed. This failed raid had not been reported and it had not been mentioned in any of the towns since; the only people with knowledge of this was her bandit camp.

But she couldn't for the life of her understand why. Up until she'd been kidnapped, life was going well. Her camp leader, Svenn, was organizing one of the biggest raids they'd ever attempted with a potential windfall of millions. The activity around the camp had been, like every single other time a raid was being organized, excitable. People shared more food and laughed together. Songs were sung, stories were shared and mead flowed freely like a waterfall of bad decisions. She couldn't understand why on earth they would want to do this to her. They were her friends, they were here family.

Why would they order such a terrible fate for her?

Asking the same questions with no answers would drive her mad. She'd be chasing her tail like a dog for centuries, barking at anything that moved. She needed to get out and ask them herself.

She needed to escape.

* * *

She waited two days for her chance. Two whole days of eating stale bread and drinking vile water. But her chance came.

She watched the guards. She noticed patterns, who would come on shift when, who would sit ramrod straight and never move through their shift, who was constantly up and down to use the chamber pot. Aiima noticed the guards usually communicated through the open door and up the stairs, yelling orders and commands and uncomfortable jokes down. She'd chosen the guard she wanted to take advantage of, a rather slow and chubby man who was constantly scratching his protruding stomach and laughing nervously. She waited patiently for his shift and all the while, concocted a plan through sleepless nights and drowsy days. She couldn't use her beauty to ensnare him because at the moment, she wasn't too beautiful. She'd have to use her smarts.

He was sitting in the chair, back to her when the plan was set in motion. Beginning to cough, Aiima spoke through her feigned coughing attacks.

"S'cuse me... could... you get me... a... drink?"

The fat man had turned his head to her and he twitched, a jerk of his shoulders. He seemed conflicted, wanting to help a girl out but not wanting to assist a criminal.

"I'm not allowed to talk to you-" He amended almost sulkily.

Lurching violently, Aiima faked a choke and fell to the floor of cell acting as if she was choking from the inside. The guard hesitated again and then leapt up, fumbling awkwardly with the keys. Aiima waited, until he was inside then kicked out of his left leg as he bent to assess her.

His already tilted balance sent him sprawling to the floor with a yelp and Aiima was instantly beside him, hand clamped around his mouth, legs wrapped around his fat body, other hand clasped on his throat threateningly and she gave it a pinch to show she meant business.

"Say another word and I'll tear out your tongue." She hissed, making him flinch. "Give me the keys."

Struggling with her awkward position, coiled around him like a cobra willing to strike, he reached behind and produced the set of keys, three keys that jangled together noisily.

"Throw them over there."

He tossed them to where she'd directed, in the doorway of the jail cell. They hit the floor a few inches of target but otherwise it was fine. Then she turned back to the jailer.

"I'm going to release my hand from your mouth. If you speak louder then a whisper, I will snap your neck so fast you will think a ghost has done it. I can escape without your help. Is this understood?" Nodding, the fat man's bright eyes darted at her face almost willingly, and she knew instantly he would obey her. He was that type of man, a sub, a man who would flinch behind doors and a behind a wife. A mummy's boy probably. Aiima's favourite type of victim. They were so easy to manipulate.

As she released her hand, the fat man gasped the suddenly silenced. Lightening quick, she rearranged herself so her hands were poised to snap his neck if he did betray her and call out.

"How many guards are upstairs and do you know their positions?"

He swallowed hard and squeaked. "Four. Jorna's asleep, Ungar's cooking and the other two are reading I think."

For fun, Aiima tightened her hands and he yelped. "That's not good enough, little piggy. Tell me what do the other two keys open?"

He had begun to cry; ugly, choked sobbing, snot running in an uninterrupted stream from his nose to his mouth, where his tongue darted out and caught it before it touched his lower lip. Aiima hid a shudder of disgust and tightened her grip.

"O-one opens the evidence chest and the other opens the prisoner belongings chest."

"Evidence chest. What's in that?" She barked.

"Some clothes, money. And a small steel dagger. That's all I swear, just let me go-"

She suddenly clamped her hand around his mouth, and began to strangle him to sleep. The guard realized what was happening and struggled against her, but he went limp in her arms, a weight so heavy she could've sworn he was dead. But she felt under his wet nostrils and judged he was alive. Good little piggy.

Wiping her hands, she took the keys and locked the guard in the cell. Then she opened up the first chest which had been taunting her from inside the cell. Inside, were as the fat man had stated, a cleaner but crudely stitched tunic, a small coin purse of money and a steel dagger. Alongside that were bundles of linen wraps. Hm. One could not kill a man with linen wraps.

She took the coin purse and the steel dagger, but left the tunic. There was more work to be done.

Aiima approached the chair that the fat guard had been sitting on and, her heart thudding in her temples out of fear in case she was caught, picked it up and tossed it as hard as she could against the wall. The wood was weak and it splintered upon impact, shattering pieces to the floor. The sound was rather impressive but Aiima dived behind the door, keys poised ready to strike.

The guards didn't take long to clamber down the stairs, awkward in their steel toed boots. They found the chair and inspected the wreckage, then one of them noticed the fat man in the cage. Making her move quickly as the sweat poured down her back, she took that streak of boldness that had saved her life so many times and let out a roar that could wake the Ancient Nords.

The guards jumped out of their skins and forget their training, allowing her a few precious seconds to shove them all into the jail alongside the fat one and lock the door.

"Let us out!"

_No chance. _Smirking she waved at them. They kicked and yelled against her, screaming but she was free of them. She guessed if one of the guards didn't attend their shifts out of the prison then someone would come looking for them. She didn't want to them to starve to death.

She ran up the stairs, ignoring their protests and undressed in the top room, clambering her new, less scratchy tunic over her head and stowing the gold between her pathetic cleavage. She had escaped, rather luckily she noted as she replaced her bare feet with snug fur boots in the corner of the room. Taking a deep breath, she left the jailhouse and stood straight as the cold air greeted her.

The wind was chilling to the bone in Morthal, and the afternoon was in full swing. The cobblestone of the city was glazed over with ice and the river that held a boat dropping off supplies, swaying uneasily on the river, was slightly frozen at the edges. People ignored Aiima, thankfully but she definitely turned her head down when a guard passed her. She would've left Morthal if it weren't for the fact it was so damn cold; she was on her way to find someone who she could buy some food and a cloak off.

She made her trade on someone's doorstep, a hard faced women who had raised her eyebrows at the money. An offer of two hundred septims for her least battered cloak and some food and ale was enough and the women sent her on her way, counting out her money triumphantly.

Aiima walked fast from Morthal. To be honest, she was desperate to be out of the city. Nobody recognized her, but the small dagger she had taken was constantly ready to strike if anybody spotted her and raised the alarm. She was nervous around the gates but once she left the gates, Aiima sighed in relief and walked happily towards the hills to make her way to the nearest shelter.

Traversing the growth of Skyrim alone was a dangerous task. For one, the land was always cold and harsh. Snow covered most of Skyrim, and the Nords had been given the gift of resistance to the cold in their blood; the face of Ra'reed in her bandit clan who saw the Nords walking around in two inch snow for the first time without a cloak was rather amusing. Still, most of their citizens felt the chill in harsh winters and going without cloaks was generally frowned upon. The land was also dangerous; black and brown bears patrolled the outer forest and deep within the bowels of the forest were trolls, giants, mammoths, sabre cats, packs of wolves, spirggons and there were many rumours of werewolves near Whiterun. An untrained man could not last an hour in a Skyrim forest. Aiima was talented in that respect but she knew the unwritten laws of the forest like any good Nord; never approach a mammoth in the presence of a giant, white wolf pelt sells for more then black, run far away from a trolls if you have no means of creating a fire (and like Aiima you were completely useless at magic) and never go into the forest alone.

She could not take the roads; now the news of her escape would've reached the guards and they would be looking for her. They patrolled the roads often, they rarely if ever patrolled the forest. The terrain had swiftly changed from snowy to rocky and Aiima could feel the jagged rocks piercing into the soles of her flimsy, if warm boots. Night was approaching fast and Aiima felt weak, vulnerable, unprotected. Her imagination ran wilder then a pack of shocked deer. She heard twigs snapping constantly behind her, forcing her to stop and turn to check for figures and not-too-distant howls of a hungry wolf pack. She was convinced the dark shadows the trees cast were in fact monsters who would steal her balance and eat her heart.

In her head, she sang songs of valour and heroes. In real life she was tone deaf but in her head her voice was sweeter then Goldenglow honey. She chose her favourite, the Age of Oppression, to keep her occupied as she traversed the land.

_We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone._  
_For the age of oppression is now nearly done._  
_We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own._  
_With our blood and our steel we will take back our home_

Aiima was not political in the slightest, but the song had a certain rhyme to it that she couldn't quite explain. It kept her mind occupied as she tried to drive thoughts of attacking bears and wolves out of her thoughts.

* * *

As night had fallen and the forest slowly came alive with potentially lethal activity, Aiima had finally stumbled upon the long rumoured cottage in the forest. Sitting almost idyllic was what people said was Drelas's cottage, an angry elemental mage who lived on his own performing experiments. She hadn't quite believed the place existed but apparently it was a legend that did have truth in it. A dilapidated stone fence surrounded the thatched roof cottage, and inside the fence a wilting garden of leeks and cabbages stood limply. The cottage was small, but it looked as if it would be comfortable for one, perhaps two at the most. It was built out of wood and like all Nordic houses, it was carved with symbols of worship and lions. It seemed Drelas was home, as the slit glass windows were the only bright thing in the forest, glowing orange like candles in the night.

Despite the refuge, Aiima approached the cottage with her weapon drawn. She'd heard tales of Drelas's aggression, but she hoped that she could sweet talk him into letting her stay under his protection for the night in return for anything he wished; she was weary from being taken hostage then imprisoned. She didn't want to get into another fight but if worst came to the worst she would slit the elf's throat then take his food.

Touching the wooden door, she noticed it was ajar slightly. Curiousity won her over and she opened the door fully, lowering her weapon for a moment. She got a small glance at the front room, a cozy and warm kitchen, living room and an alchemists storeroom before it happened.

A second later, an arrow came flying at her head. It missed her, but only just, lodging itself into the frame of the door. Aiima froze, shocked and made a split second judgement regarding her new situation. She dropped the dagger to the floor and raised her hands in surrender.

"Who are you?"

The voice came from the shadows and immediately she could tell it wasn't Drelas. Drelas was a Dunmer therefore his voice would be low and aggressive; this voice was rough, foolhardy and simply asking a question in quite a fearful tone of voice. Aiima squinted, peering into the shadows that the stairs casted where the voice came from but she could not see the owner.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I have the tactical advantage, woman. I could drop you like a fly."

Aiima's tongue began to fly. "Not necessarily. Regardless of whether you aimed to kill me and your aim is _shocking_ or you are in fact a talented archer, I still have the advantage."

"And what is that?" He, she had decided, sounded hesitant.

"I could easily step back and close the door, giving me a good... say, five seconds? Three?"

The man scoffed. "I doubt you are that fast."

Aiima laughed. "I assure you I could move that fast. Your answering arrow to that move would be lodged into the closed door. As you attempted to retrieve the arrow and come find me, I would've had the time to sneak around the house and hide. Thereon when you come to find me, I shall be in hiding. Therefore I shall have the advantage."

The man let out a soft breath and Aiima decided he wouldn't shoot her now, he was too intrigued. Taking her chances, she narrowed her eyes in the general direction of the man and pressed her lips together. "I shall not do that though. I am simply a weary traveller hoping for some good old Nord hospitality."

"This house does not belong to us."

_Us? _Was there more then one standing alongside him in the shadows. Aiima smiled.

"I know. Which is why you cannot win any territorial claim to this land; the land is now in ownership of the Jarl because the previous owner has either died, or been murdered-"

Before she could go on, some commotion happened under the stairs.

"Saelta, no!" The man yelled, as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Clutching a dog-eared book in her hands, the young girl was around nine or ten. She was small in size and height for her age, but there was a certain maturity her watery blue eyes held that made her look older. She had extremely long blonde hair, waist length and it fell in soft waterfall type ringlets, hair that reminded Aiima of a princess. Her complexion was Nordic and pale; she had circles rimmed around her eyes like dirt and a small cut on her left cheek. Her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth to speak.

"It was an accident, I swear. I didn't mean to kill him."

**A/N DUN DUN DUNN! Cliffhanger time! Yeah! So little girls murdering people, what else do you want in your life? Watch out for the next update with the info on our mysterious new friends!**

**Once again, want to get in touch quickly and ask a question, ask on tumblr! thespookyurbanmormont is my URL  
**

**Reviews and favourites would be appreciated. **


	3. The Calm

**A/N: Aah hi guys! Awesome response for the last two chapters and you are all awesome for reading this. So here we go, third chapterino! Enjoy!**

"_Mother! Don't sleep! Mother!" _

_Aiima knelt by her mother's bedside, shaking her lithe frame as her mother fought against the overwhelming urge to shut her eyes. In the deep recess of Aiima's prepubescent mind, she knew that if her mother slept now, she would never wake again. Panic sowed it's way into Aiima's heart and burst into blooms of hysterics and she hated it. She knew that her mother was trying, trying with every ounce of her strength and willpower that the disease had sapped from her and at this moment she had never loved her dearer. _

"_Mother please don't go! Please!"_

_She had begun to sob, to cry freely and willingly. She could think only of a life alone. After her brothers and sisters had all gone too, to the arms of their father and uncles in Sovngarde, Aiima tried to imagine a life without her mother. Without her recipe for bread, without her warm arms, without that smile she always did whenever she read something that amused. The house would feel cold without out. _

"_Aiima..." A shaking, frail wrist reached up and caressed Aiima's wet cheek and her mother managed to raise her head to look up at her, a staggering feat at this stage of the disease. "You... are... so... strong, I am... so... proud.. of... you."_

"_Mother." _

_It was a choke, it was a whisper, it was a plea. But it was fruitless as she could almost feel her mother's spirit leaving her. _

"_I... love you."_

_And Aiima's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. _

* * *

Aiima felt herself jolt back from a particularly saddening and violent flashback, reminding herself she was in the present. The little girl, with the bright blue eyes and the agonized expression, was still standing in front of her. She had just said it.

"It was an accident, I swear. I didn't mean to kill him."

As she said it, the man from the shadows stumbled forwards and took the girl by the shoulders. In the light, he was a lot less threatening. An oldish man, middle aged. Aiima could tell he had once been a broad shouldered, heavy muscled man as the tendons in his arm and shoulders ran deep. However he had lost quite a bit of weight, both muscle and fat, in a short amount of time so he gave off the appearance of a frail, gaunt looking skeleton with broad shoulders and huge hands. His clothes were clean but drab and frayed at the edges, normal trousers, leather boots and a tunic that had been washed too many times. His hair was lank and greasy, a rich auburn colour and his eyes were also the same watery blue that his (assuming she was his daughter) daughters were. He looked hungry and weak as he limped into view after his daughter. Aiima immediately saw why; on his right foot just below the ankle was a bundle of bloodied linen wraps concealing a stump.

"Saelta get back!"

He had slung the bow and arrows behind his back, and he took his daughter away from Aiima as if she was poised to bit. The girl stumbled backwards into her father's protection, never once taking those eyes from Aiima as if she was a guard.

The father narrowed his eyes. "If you hurt her I will-"

"It's okay." Aiima allowed her guard to drop; even though the girl had made a confession of murder and the father looked ready to tear Aiima's throat out if she stepped too close, she did not fear them. "I do not make it my business to harm children and people who clearly need help." Aiima allowed her gaze to obviously drop towards the man's stumpy ankle, then back up at him.

"Am I allowed a name?"

She glanced down at the girl, then back up to the father. He seemed hesitant to say any more then he needed to, but the girl couldn't resist.

"I'm Saelta-"

"Ssh!"

Aiima glared at the father. "I assure you I am not a guard. I'm merely a weary traveller looking for rest. I was hoping to run into Drelas actually." She added, to try and provoke a reaction. The man tightened his grip on his daughter's shoulders and curled his lip up to her in a sneer.

The girl, or Saelta, turned around slightly to face her father. "Can I tell her? She doesn't look like a guard, Daddy. She's not wearing the uniform."

"That doesn't matter, sweetheart." He looked at Aiima with a fiery hatred. "She could be disguised."

Aiima swallowed tightly, and turned around to shut the door so they could conduct business without a cold drought blowing against her. The sudden movement made the man get out his bow and arrow again and aim it directly at her. Saelta seemed to be well adjusted to her father getting out weapons, as she immediately hide back under the staircase away from the fight. Aiima froze.

"I mean you no harm."

"Tell me your name."

She paused for a second and analyzed him. He had a hunter's bow, wooden and curved, but he wasn't a hunter; hunters could stay still tracking deer across the plains for hours yet he seemed restless, eyes darting all around Aiima's face and body. His precision with the bow and his familiarity with it suggested he was a military man and this further added to his stance, as he held himself the way archers do before battle. He wasn't an archer though or if he was, he was very out of practice; she could tell by the way his hands trembled on the bow and his balance was slightly off, aiming more towards Aiima's shoulder then her head.

"Aiima Fairchild."

"And what are you doing here, Aiima Fairchild?"

Aiima was lethargic. There was a warm fire beside where Saelta was hiding and Aiima desperately wanted to crawl onto the floor and sleep curled up in front of it, like a tired cat after a long day of taunting mice. Which is why she told the truth.

"I used to be a bandit in Riften until I was kidnapped and tortured by two men for an item I did not possess. When they finally released me, they left me stranded and alone in a field in Hjaalmarch. Guards picked me up and brought me back to the city of Morthal, to the court of Jarl Idgrod. Her steward and housecarl recognized me as the thief of the Morthal Crown and they imprisoned." Allowing a triumphant tone seep into her voice, Aiima smiled. "I escaped and made my way to here. Does that answer your question?"

The man seemed stunned for a moment at her unflinching honesty. Then he lowered his bow and Aiima let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"It's okay Saelta. You can come out." The young girl went back over to her father, "I am Brandr."

Aiima sighed.

"Thank you." Aiima softened her gaze as much as she could, before managing a tight smile at him. "What are your food stores like?"

"We have only bread and tomatoes left. The tomatoes are for tomorrow until we can go hunting for more but you're welcome to the bread for tonight."

Aiima had turned by the point to get the food but she didn't miss the look Brandr gave Saelta. It was one of the weakest smiles she had ever seen but Saelta didn't return it, paling and swallowing nervously. She watched the child cast a quick but nervous glance towards her father's leg, then flick back up towards him. Brandr reached his hand out and tugged his daughter towards him, enclosing her in a brief but heartfelt hug that made Aiima's throat tight.

Aiima didn't have medical training but she did have common sense. That man wouldn't last more then an hour in the forest with a leg like that. He stood as if he was on burning coals, hopping every now and again to attempt to keep his balance. She wondered how long the wound had been open, what had caused it and how they had managing so far. She felt sick as she looked at the child; already frail and sickly, how long had they been on the run and how long had she been secretly giving her father half of her portions? And why were they on the run?

There was a lapse in speech and Aiima felt the urge to fill it with talk.

"Well Brandr. It's nice to meet you."

He hesitated before nodding once in her direction.

Before she could start to develop feelings, Aiima shook her head vigorously and walked up the stairs and located the bedroom of Drelas's cottage, taking the top cover of his bedding off. She ignored the god awful rotting and burnt smell coming from the room next door, and remembered the little girl saying she'd killed Drelas. Had they simply left the body upstairs?

Reminding herself to ask when she had slept a full night, she went back downstairs and laid the bedding near the fire. She bundled up her cloak and created a pillow and stood back to admire her handiwork; not bad. She'd slept in worse places.

"If either one of you wake me up before I wake up naturally, I will not hesitate to rip your head off."

And with that, Aiima dropped to her knees and closed her eyes.

When Aiima woke, she was aware her back hurt from sleeping on the floor and there was something rather large looming in her blurred vision. The young girl from the night before, Saelta, stood above her holding out a wooden bowl of something red and thick.

"Here. Daddy made it. It's soup."

Sitting up, Aiima took the hot bowl and the spoon from the girl and raised an eyebrow when she sat crossed legged in front of her. Saelta was grinning from ear to ear, as Aiima blew on the rising steam of the soup to cool it. It looked passable, thick and lumpy, about ninety percent tomato and ten percent water and there was something that looked suspiciously like meat resting in the middle but it was hot and creamy. When she rose to lick the dripping spoon, she tasted the richness of the soup, and the freshness of the tomatoes. Eager, she began to spoon boiling hot mouthfuls as fast as she could manage, feeling the warmth already begin to seep through her body and into her core.

The girl was still staring at her. "What?" Aiima asked rather pointedly.

Saelta grinned. "You said you were a bandit last night; what's a bandit?"

Aiima swallowed hard and glared at the child. "Someone who takes what they want when they want it." As Aiima shoveled the soup in, Saelta tilted her head at Aiima and frowned.

"Isn't that kinda like a thief?"

"No."

"Do you steal things from people?"

"Yes."

"So it is like a thief?"

As her temper rose and her patience faded, Aiima lowered the soup bowl and ignored her endless questions. "Tell me, girl, how did you kill Drelas? Did you slit his throat or batter his skull in? Personally I prefer the throat. It's a lot quicker."

Aiima had never seen a child switch moods so fast but as Saelta's smile wiped off her face and her lower lip began to tremble, Aiima almost jumped out of her skin when Saelta let out a wail and ran for the door. She slipped out, slammed the door and in her slipstream knocked over a vase by the end table near the door, causing it to shatter. Grinning, Aiima enjoyed the silence as she finished her soup and laid the bowl next to her, but the grin faded when Brandr limped through the open door.

"Woman, I warned you not to harm her."

He raised his hands as if he was about to pick her up and strangle her.

Aiima rose to his size, refusing to be intimidated by his snarling tone or the fact he had a sword readied at the hip. "And what shall you do, cripple? Stab me? Ha! You are a pathetic excuse for a Nord, you can barely drag a body from the upstairs to the downstairs without your leg giving in. What happened to your leg, anyways?"

Brandr went red; he seemed a little ashamed and Aiima saw why: "I was hunting in the woods at dark. Bear attacked me. Caught me by surprise."

Aiima laughed but it was humourless. "And you've never hunted prior to that?"

"Once or twice with my regiment."

He had forgotten his anger in her curiousity. "You fucking novice." She felt the anger seep into her tone and she recited one of the rules her father had taught her before he left to fight in the war. "Unwritten rule of the woods; never go alone and most certainly never in the dark!"

"I wasn't alone."

Aiima giggled properly this time, gesturing to the door in which Saelta had just fled out of. "And your nine year old daughter counts as a shield?"

He shrugged meekly, head dipping low as he tried to hide his shame. "She's ten."

Aiima was pushing it. She was still reeling from her lessons of Saelta last night. The girl had not eaten a square meal in days and Aiima's twisted conscience had her unwilling to leave them so soon as she planned. He couldn't hunt but without hunting Saelta and her father couldn't eat. Sighing, Aiima sent a quick prayer to the gods.

_In the future, please allow me to sever all emotional connections with other people. It only gets me into trouble. Also, if I do not earn an honorary place in Sovngarde for this, I will worship a Daedraic prince. Many thanks. _

"I can teach her."

Brandr stepped forward then stumbled, remembering the fact he didn't have an ankle on his right foot. He reposition himself then tried again. "Sorry?"

It was almost worth asking herself it. What was she doing? She had to get out of Hjaalmarch before a guard patrol grabbed her and slung her back in prison with the pool of blood and the rotten wood. She couldn't help a family of two who were perfectly capable of helping themselves.

"I can teach her. How to hunt for you both until you get back on your-." She almost said feet but stopped herself, "-path. I used to be a poacher when I was younger; I know how to hunt well and I'll even throw in a few preserving-meat lessons to keep you stocked for the winter if you wish to remain here."

"You want to teach my daughter how to hunt?"

"Yes. I'd rather the deaths of two presumably innocent citizens not be on my hands, thank you."

"Out of the kindness of your heart?"

Aiima got a good laugh out of that one. "More out of preserving my own backside. In return for the hunting lessons, I get to stay here in safety of this delightful cottage until I see fit to leave. Is that a deal?"

The traditional Nordic way of making a deal was to smash a pint of ale together and drink it as fast as possible. In lacking the ale, Aiima offered her hand to Brandr. He looked at it suspiciously, as if she was going to whip it away like children did to humiliate others. But he quickly grabbed it, and gave it a firm shake, eyeing her solidly in the morning air.

"It's a deal."

Aiima smiled. This was progress. She had a house in which she could attend to herself and another body to throw into the fire if someone came. Yes, he had no leg but he still had arms and a body was a body.

"First of all, we're moving that body. I want to sleep in that bed tonight."

They buried Drelas in the back yard. Amongst his wilting potato and leeks, Aiima and Saelta dug a shallow grave and Aiima helped Brandr hoist the swaddled body into the grave. He had been in there for a while, and he stunk of cooked pork and rotten flesh making Aiima gag as she threw the body carelessly into the grave.

In the mid-afternoon sun, the three stood around the grave, admiring their handiwork and neat grave digging and unable to think of what to say next.

Saelta had found a bush of pretty blue flowers and she threw it into the grave. The blue flower chased the body and landed on Drelas's chest softly. "I'm sorry for killing you."

Aiima tried not to laugh as Saelta sobbed softly into her father's chest mourning for the temperamental elemental mage. It was so surreal Aiima couldn't believe it but she tried to fight off her laughter, instead asking the question she'd been dying to ask.

"How did he die?" She tried to soften her voice, and she directed the question to Saelta but Brandr answered before the child could try.

"It was a total accident-" He began to babble, defending his daughter's honour.

Aiima held up her hand. "Please, I am not a child, Brandr. I have killed men myself probably for less reasons then your daughter did."

"It was an accident." He insisted then begun to explain. "Saelta has magicka potential, one of the strongest in our village. We were going to send to her to Mages College when she got older." Saelta turned to smile at him and he grinned back. "We still are."

He tweaked her nose and Aiima felt sick to her stomach; is this what normal families were like? She didn't know.

"Anyway, because of her youth and her power, her magic is... unpredictable to say the least. We came here seeking refuge but Drelas would not let us in. Saelta got a bit upset with him. You see, she can manipulate all branches of magic but her strongest side is destruction."

It all made sense now as the pieces of the puzzle slotted together. The burnt room when Aiima had gone up to get the body, how the body smelt like cooked pork and was charred at the edges. She guessed the girl had accidentally done something and set the mage on fire without meaning to. "Oh."

Brandr nodded. "I know. It was quite horrific."

"I didn't mean it I swear-"

"Saelta, we've been over this. It was an accident."

Aiima had been slightly older when she killed her first man, and she remembered the aching need of correcting that mistake that Aiima had felt. A life for a life she had convinced herself. She remembered trying numerous times to kill herself; the scars were still shiny on her wrists. She prayed to the Gods, telling them that she was sorry she had commended herself to a life in Nordic hell. She was thirteen when she had murdered him, completely and totally an honest mistake.

And Saelta was only ten. She couldn't imagine the pain she was going through.

Brandr narrowed his eyes at Aiima and the meaning was clear; _say sorry._ She wasn't the type to apologize first but she knew if she didn't, the household's atmosphere would be strained as well.

Which is why Aiima walked over to where the child was standing and allowed herself to squeeze her shoulder. Swallowing her pride, Aiima dropped down to her level.

"I am sorry for my remarks this morning."

She couldn't believe she was apologizing to a child, but Brandr's back straightened and he nodded tightly at her. Seeming to trust her, he turned and walked back into the cottage to give them privacy. Saelta smiled.

"It's okay. I knew you were just being mean because you were afraid."

Aiima was stunned and she actually recoiled slightly. "Afraid? Afraid of what?"

Afraid and Aiima were two words that did not go hand in hand.

Saelta reached out and stroked a childish hand on her cheek, more specifically where her kidnappers had sliced her. "Afraid of the man who did that to you."

Aiima's lower lip trembled and she could feel that tightness in her throat. She had not cried in so long the feeling was alien, so out of place like a Khajiit in a temple. Forcing herself to think of good thoughts, she managed a choking laugh and a watery smile.

"It's okay." Saelta smiled wider then her voice lowered. She saw the childish gesture Saelta was making, encouraging Aiima to lean forwards and tilt her head. When she did, Saelta cupped a hand around Aiima's ear and whispered something that made her shiver.

"I'm afraid as well."

**A/N: I'm a fan of cliffhangers as you can tell. **

**As per usual, contact me through tumblr, thespookyurbanmormont**

**Please Review/Favourite/Follow xx**


	4. Before the Storm

**A/N: Hey guys! Chapter four is a-go! I'm so surprised I reached this chapter! I thought I would've given up by now. **

**Anyway, here's a little hint to the content of this chapter; we have a full description of our swashbuckling morally questionable heroine Aiima and Brandr and Saelta's backstory. Get the steel ready for that one, because his wife is a *BLEEP***

**Thank you for all the reviews, follows and views. It's been amazing. **

**Okay I'll stop talking now, on with the show!**

* * *

_And then she was alone._

_The body was carried out of their two story house, from the bed to the Hall of the Dead in their home. A priest of Arkay performed the rituals and blessed Aiima's soul and her mother's, wishing her a fine life in Sovngarde. People donated their hard earned money to her, gave her clothes to wear and food to eat. This generosity continued in the same vein for weeks as Aiima tried to cope with the the dark cloud that had been cast over her. Without the worry of money or food to cope with, she allowed herself time to heal and mourn for the loss of her mother. _

_Then things got worse. People stopped paying for her food and her rent. Said she was old enough to work and it had been long enough for her to recover. Said she wasn't a true Nord if she couldn't bounce back. _

_It was useless. No amount of cajoling, or catcalling, or persuading or insulting could convince her to get out of bed and work. She felt as if she'd been flung into sudden choppy waters in a small wooden boot, thrashed on a black stormy night. It was like the world had suddenly mobbed up against her, telling her how to think, how to feel. _

_She could only think of her mother. She missed her mother so bad it was hard to breathe; she woke for a few magical seconds in the morning and forgot, but then it would crash over her like a tidal wave, leaving her shell-shocked and suffocating. _

_That was when the landlord came._

* * *

Aiima came up for air in the tub, gasping as she spluttered water out of her mouth. It had gone into her eyes and ears but it had purified them, making her vision seem clearer, face clean. The water was still lukewarm so when Aiima had gotten her breathing back under control and the water had stopped sloshing she lent back and heaved her shoulders in a huge sigh.

After they'd finished burying Drelas's body, Brandr had 'suggested' as kindly as possible that perhaps Aiima should wash. Like the long deceased mage, Aiima knew she stank of rotten flesh, muck and grime. So she agreed to postpone Saelta's lessons for the sake of a bath to make their living together a lot more pleasant.

Saelta had done the legwork since Brandr was tired from helping her bury the body. She'd gathered what water they'd had left and thrown it in the bath; Aiima was surprised as the water had been stone cold to the touch and she definitely was not bathing in freezing water. Saelta had rubbed her hands together then flattened her palms, outstretched towards the then-clean water before she dunked them in. Studying her intently, Aiima jumped when flames burst from Saelta's hands under the water and fanned out. She was surprised they didn't immediately thump out because Aiima wasn't dumb, water always combusted fire. But they were magical flames and within moments, the water had steamed the cracked mirror on the wall, dripping condensation to the wooden floor beams. Saelta withdrew her hands and Aiima saw they were dry as if she hadn't touched the water at all.

"Thank you." She said, still a little stunned at the girls magical prowess. Saelta smiled modestly and shrugged.

"It's not a problem."

She left Aiima alone, clicking the door as softly as she could and Aiima listened for her padded footsteps on the creaky stairs as they slowly faded. When she was sure the girl was downstairs, Aiima stripped and took a tentative step into the bath.

The tub was iron, faded and cracked a little, and comfortably warm to the touch. It was a little short for her but deep, submerging her body in cleansing, hot water. She rested her head against the side of the tub and tried to relax, forgetting the constant humming of her mind. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift into places more pleasurable then she was in.

When it was time to get out, when the water was cold and murky, Aiima rose and allowed her body to drip onto the wooden beams. Saelta had kindly left her damp but clean tunic she had stolen in the prison, and a clean rag that was used to get her dry. She picked it up and heard a chink of metal fall to the floor; a pair of scissors lay glinting atop the dark beams. She could see her reflection and had to hide a gasp.

Emancipated was the word to describe her; she'd always been thin but her body was more skeleton then flesh. Her hip bones jutted out, and her ribs seemed to protrude from her skin without her stretching. Paper white, and paper thin her skin looked, barely hiding the bulging of ugly green and blue veins. Her webbed skin was dotted with fading dark scars and fresh ones, pink and red against a canvas of white. Whilst thin, her body still retained that powerful look that caused people to fear her. Tendons ran deep in her legs and arms, her breasts were tiny, thighs thick with muscle. She was small but she was powerful.

She could've been pretty if she tried. Without the smatterings of chalk and rogue the women used to enhance their natural beauty, she was alright if a little plain. Nothing special. She wasn't the type to turn heads she was the type to break necks. Her eyes were a weak blue colour, icy and dull. Her nose was small and button like, adorable if not for the scar that hooked on the edge of her nose and curled down towards her lips. There was also that telltale scar on her forehead, the coiled snake she called it.

Her lips themselves were full but colourless; she knew this was only due to lack of hydration and Aiima raised a hand to wipe a wet forearm against them. The lips soaked up the moisture and slowly changed colour, to a stronger pink. That was better. She looked healthier then.

Her defining feature was her hair. Or had been her hair. Before she'd been kidnapped, it was thick and glorious, long like a horses mane and the colour of the midnight sky. Screw her manly nature, Aiima could spend hours washing it and drying it, braiding it and letting it flow free in the wind. But the kidnappers had capitalized on her infamous love of her hair and torn it from her scalp: it had no sign that it had once been long and lustrous. Straggled, weak and limp, Aiima knew there was only one thing she could do with it.

Aiima picked up the scissors from the floor, and stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror, lip curling in a little disgust. She gathered what was left of her hair in a bunch, and as nonchalantly as she could manage, raised the scissors and sniped just above her fist. The hair loosened and fell onto her wrist, the thick hairs tickling her hands. She swallowed hard and started cutting through her hair.

The process was long, painful and quiet. Her hair fell from her hand onto the floor and it gathered in a pile of black. Her vision misted as she cut the final through strokes and shook her now damp and short hair.

Wiping her face angrily, she scooped the hair up from the floor and tossed it out of the window into the bushes below. Looking back in the mirror, she had to fight back a sob. It was so short, shorter then she could ever remember it. Mostly it was midway to her neck but some strands were shorter still, and these escaped her ears grasp when she tucked it behind them. She looked... different. Colder somehow. Who knew hair could mean so much to her? But it wasn't the hair that upset it was what it had represented.

Her kidnappers had took everything. And she was going to get them back.

With the scissors, she climbed back into the cold bath and snipped the bush of pubic hair that had grown. Most women preferred to let things grow but Aiima hated that hair grew their; it was unnecessary and it always scratched her as her hair was wiry and thick. She cut the hair underneath her arms and raised her legs up on the bath and snipped the curling forest that was growing down to short stubs of grass. That would have to do until she got her hands on a razor.

A bang at the door jolted her out of her thoughts followed by three short taps. Aiima looked down at her naked form then yelled at the door.

"One moment."

She stepped back out of the bath, dried her lower legs on the rag then dressed quickly in the tunic. She shook out the bigger water droplets in her hair and decided she'd be fine. It was just hair.

Taking a moment to collect herself, she opened the door. Saelta stood in front of her, grinning, clutching the bow which looked far too big for her tiny hands to hold.

"Are we going to be shooti- what happened to your hair?"

Aiima raised a hand and self-consciously touched the back of her head, making sure it was still there. There was a shock as she felt the short strands, and for a fleeting moment she was sure someone had stolen it. Then she took the bow from Saelta.

"It was too long. I had to cut it off."

Saelta smiled. "I thought it looked nice long."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on we better get started, it'll be dark soon."

A little hurt at her abrupt statement, Saelta followed her downstairs. Irritated and annoyed at her loss, Aiima had to sit through a procession of Brandr fussing over Saelta, making sure she had supplies in case she got lost, an extra cloak for warmth and smoothing over her lank hair. The whole ordeal was painful but finally they got through the door as the sun slowly began to sank in the sky.

They walked some distance from the cottage first, Aiima scouting ahead to look for the perfect spot. When she found it, a clearing with space to move, a rock to sit on and three trees standing in a line a little distance from each other.

Aiima grabbed a dagger and carved a wide circle into a tree, making extra care to carve a smaller circle as the target. She took Saelta's extra cloak and supplies to sit on the rock to watch, handed her the bow and told her to shoot.

Saelta's natural form was incredibly sloppy. The girl, unlike most other Nord children, had never probably touched a bow before. There was a lot of stopping and starting, as Aiima jumped in and corrected Saelta's stance or how she nocked the arrow. When she shot, aiming for the tree, she missed rather comically and it lodged into the ground.

Saelta gave a childish yelp in answer then stomped to where the arrow had lodged and picked it up. She resumed her bow and tried again.

This time, the arrow went whistling into the tree but largely down from where the target was. Saelta lowered the bow and turned to Aiima for praise or criticism.

_This is going to harder then I thought._

"Look child, you must remember to breathe and steady your aim." She rummaged in Saelta's supplies bag and took out half of a loaf of bread. "Try again."

"I can't concentrate with that noise!"

Aiima stopped chewing then resumed; as if the child could hear her jaws clashing against the tough bread. "What noise?" She asked, through a mouthful of dough.

"That one. Can't you hear it?" She paused and raised a hand, listening for it. "There it is. Listen."

Aiima stopped chewing reluctantly and froze, listening out for sounds. Her hunters ears were adept and she still couldn't hear a thing. Perhaps the distant crashing of a water reaching a pool from a waterfall in the distance-

_Wait that's not right. There is no waterfall near here. _

Aiima stood up on the rock and looked around. The forest was silent apart from the occasional tweeting of a bird and buzzing of a dragonfly. The air was cool and calm, the sun slowly fading into a pinkish hue and the wind had picked up a little, making noises as it whistle past the rock.

"Do you hear it-"

"Ssh!"

Aiima listened, barely able to hear over the sound of her own heart thudding in her temples. She gestured back to the girl, moving her hand quickly, encouraging her to come and stand beside her on the rock. Saelta did so immediately and handed Aiima the bow and arrows. Aiima quickly nocked one and aimed for the forest, with a terrible sense of dread that something was going to come out and harm them.

The crashing became louder, and something roared in the distance. It sounded like a bear but was too loud and sounded too distant; bears only roared like that when they were about to attack you. Years of hunting their pelts told her that. She heard Saelta's quick breathing and felt her hand reach up to grab Aiima's tunic, tightening her grip for comfort and fear. Aiima heard quickened footsteps and stretched her aim in the woods, squinting in the deep green and brown of the forest for any sign of life.

A rabbit emerged from the bushes and Aiima calmed, lowering her aim. It didn't stop to look at her or sniff at the grass and twitch its nose; it ran full speed across the rock and into the back of the clearing ignoring them both entirely. Something had clearly spooked it. But what? A sabre cat?

The tension grew and suddenly the sounded louder, and so much closer. It hurt Aiima's ears. How could something move so fast?

Then she heard it. The flapping of wings, powerful and earth shaking. There was a second as she moved her aim from the forest to sky when she saw it. Her instincts took flight like her heartbeat and she lowered her aim, staring dumbstruck. Her ears seemed to loose all sense of hearing; if she was paying attention she would've heard it's ear splitting roar and the wind whistling loudly as it – whatever the hell it was – nose dived for the clearing. She would've heard Saelta's scream and her frantic footsteps as she moved past Aiima and bolted for the forest. She would've heard every single instinct in her head, screaming at her to fight it or run from it. But something, a cold blooded fear that was hard wired to supersede every other brainwave, locked her feet onto the rock and watched as this monstrous thing swooped down for her.

She would've been dead if it weren't for Saelta; screaming, she'd ran back and grabbed Aiima by the hand hard, tugging her after the girl into the forest. Saelta tackled Aiima onto the hard forest floor, and they rolled for a few beats before coming to a thud against a tree. The bow and arrow lay on the floor, but there was no time to go back and retrieve them; Saelta had shoved Aiima behind the tree and they both waited, attempting to get their breathing back to a steady pace without alerting this thing to their presence.

Aiima was numb but as her senses returned to her, she was aware Saelta had her arms clasped around Aiima's tiny waist, her head resting on her collarbone, her frantic breathing warming her skin. There was a pause before Aiima wrapped her arms reluctantly around her, resting her chin atop Saelta's head. She hoped it would work instead of comforting words.

When the thing landed (Aiima refused to even entertain the notion that it was what it looked like. Those dra- fables were exactly that. Fables. Myths and stories told to entertain children), it shook the earth so violently Saelta let out a whimper against her throat and almost fell. Aiima held her tightly, encouraging her to nuzzle her head into Aiima's tunic to muffle any other cries she elicited.

She could hear it, so close, so terrifyingly close. It had paused in the clearing, sniffing at the supplies cautiously as if it was afraid something would burst out of the woods and attack it. Heart thudding, Aiima moved slightly along the scratchy bark and gave into her temptation to study the creature closely.

It was huge, bigger then her by a long shot. It's head was huge, and it would've been far to heavy to keep it up on its own if not for the strong powerful neck it was attached to. Scaly like a lizard, it's eyes were green and darted almost consciously across the clearing detecting for any sign of life. Its back was scattered with jagged spikes, some torn and frayed down all the way to the long tail with the stubby end as if something had bitten that off as well. Its tail curled around it protectively as it searched the clearing for something, something that clearly needed to be found. Its scales were green and lighter green imprints of a swirly pattern dotted its wings and back: the wings themselves had holes through them in which Aiima could see through.

Then as if something Sheogorath himself would conjure up, the dragon turned it's head towards the sky and _spoke_.

"_Faal dovahkiin... hin kos het, ko Keizaal. Hin nis faal jul. Hin fen funt_."

She turned back to Saelta and tried to control herself. A scream tried to force its way out of her lips. She was usually so unafraid, so tough but this... this thing had completely taken leave of her senses. There was no logic in why it was here. It couldn't be here. It looked exactly like a drawing of a dragon. Dragons weren't real. They couldn't be...

Saelta suddenly stiffened and Aiima saw a black glow cover her body. The glow burst and swallowed Aiima as well and suddenly the world was muffled, the sounds of the... the dragon's sniffing and breathing muted.

"What was that?" She whispered despite her situation, her own voice sounding submerged as if she was underwater. Saelta struggled out of the tight circle of Aiima's arms and crouched in front of her.

"Muffling spell and an invisibility spell. They won't last long so we better go now."

Stunned at how cool and collected she was being, Aiima took Saelta's outstretched hand and the pair began to ran back towards the cottage.

Aiima turned as she ran, drinking in the sight of the myth now turned real.

* * *

"A dragon?"

It was nighttime and Aiima and Saelta were safely in the hunt. They were sitting by a fire, trying to warm up and forget their hunger after Brandr had handed out their meager potato dinner. Saelta was still shivering but Aiima was impressed; despite her uselessness with a bow, the girl had Nordic bravery that saved their lives and would ultimately serve her in the future.

Brandr was still unconvinced at their story. After they'd returned, Saelta and Aiima had relayed their stories in jaunty, terrified tones. Brandr had listened to their fear, their worry but outrightly laughed when they'd both reached a conclusion: "It was dragons!"

"Yes, Brandr." Aiima said, impatient at his ignorance. "It was a dragon."

"Aiima you must be delirious from-"

"I'm telling you the truth Brandr! I would not lie about something so serious-"

They'd been bickering in the same vein for a while, and Saelta stood, apparently annoyed.

"No! Stop arguing. You," She turned her critical gaze on her father, "We saw a dragon and that's the end of it. And you-" An annoyed glance at Aiima. "You're an awful teacher and stop being such a... such a skeever about it. Just let it go, okay?"

Too stunned to move, Aiima watched as Saelta suddenly rubbed her eyes and sighed. "I'm going to bed."

The adults sat in a shocked silence as the child stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to the mage's bedroom. Brandr was the first to begin laughing, a short bark of a laugh and Aiima couldn't help it, laughing with her arm supported on the stairs to stop herself from falling over.

"She may be terrible with a bow but you have to admit, she has bite." Aiima said, settling down in front of the fire and warming her hands up. Brandr laughed then looked wistfully into the flames, playing with one of the linen wraps that was stifling his puckered wound from view.

"Yes." Then he added, almost reluctantly, "She gets it from her mother."

They had entered upon private territory and Aiima hesitated before asking. "Can I ask what happened to her mother?"

Expecting Brandr to relay the usual died-during-childbirth story, or got-a-disease story, Brandr instead sniffed and said, "She left."

Aiima was understandably confused. "She left? She didn't... die or anything?" Brandr laughed once and shook his head.

"No. But I wish for it every day." He said seriously, then looked upon Aiima. "Have you ever been in love, Aiima?"

Aiima matched his glance and saw the severity in his eyes and for a moment, the eyes turned into a stronger blue, matching Vilkas's. She allowed herself for a moment to remember, to remember the softness of his glare juxtaposed with the hardness of his body, the feel of his hands over her, on her hips, guiding her thrusts. She allowed herself to drift into the stream of memories and that sweetly-sick feeling of love that had consumed her sanity, her reason, her logic. Her every feeling, the beating of her heart, the breathing of her lungs was powered by that one emotion that was destructive and healing and angry and sweet. That had consumed her so entirely that when he left out of disgust she had nothing to show for her efforts and a heart so broken it was still out of sync with his.

"Once." She allowed herself to say that much, condensing a world-wind of emotions that could devastate the world more then a dragon could even dream of. "A long time ago." She looked into the fire and saw the anger she'd felt when he'd gone.

"Then you know what its like. To have loved and lost." Brandr sniffed and Aiima allowed him the privacy in case he was crying. "Saelta's mother was with us all during the hard times. We had tried for two years to get our precious daughter and we were delighted when she announced she was with child. She looks so much like Ros at times, it's painful to see her. They smile the same."

Aiima was silent; allowing him to continue.

"Then I joined the Stormcloaks. I believed in politics and Ulfric. I thought the war was the best way to go." He lowered his voice to a whisper and there was something in his tone to suggest hatred. "You know, Ulfric has never been in the field? He's never gone out, not even once to protect the land he claims he loves? How could I give up my life for a man like that?"

Aiima filled in the blanks. "You didn't like the war." It wasn't a question and Brandr nodded.

"Hated it. I hated the fact I killed my brothers in war. I hated the fact that we were fighting for something so petty, so stupid. I hated the fact that we were fighting the wrong people." He opened his mouth to speak again then smiled, almost embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I won't bore you with all the political details. I'm somewhat of a political nut, Aiima. I could talk for hours about the details of Ulfric's policies."

Aiima laughed and warmed her hands by the fire. "Whilst I am the opposite."

This sparked his interest. "No? Well what do you believe in?"

Sniffing, Aiima let the fire seep into her core then settled back against the chair. "I believe we should not answer to kings and nobles. Why should the working man be stunted by policies the nobleman creates for him, when he has never been in his position?" She sighed. "Monarchy is not the way to go. The leader should be voted by the people, for the people."

"Aah, a democrat." Aiima had realized there was a word for people who thought like her. "Well surely isn't it what Ulfric is suggesting if he takes the throne?" He was baiting her, trying to get her talking about politics. Aiima laughed and allowed him the answer for a small detail of his personal life.

"Well no. If he wants the throne, then he is merely a power hungry bastard like the rest of them. He doesn't want to help the people. Like you said, he has never fought for the land he loves so much. So why should I answer to his beck and call?"

"A true Nord!" He laughed delightedly, then settled back onto the chair. "I kind of agree with you, Aiima. But all political jargon aside, my dear, I hated the war."

"So I ran."

Aiima sat up, sensing the story was about to get interesting.

"I sent a letter to my dear, sweet Ros-" Bitterness crept into his tone. "-and told her I was making plans to run away in the night. I never received her answering letter as I was already gone by then. I made my plans, and left. The guard on the wall, a young lad from Rorikstead, refused me exit from the fort. I told him in my best impression of a theatrical man that my daughter needed me as she was dying and I wanted to be by her side. He took a lot of persuasion but conscience won him over and he very reluctantly told me to go home and tend to her and come straight back. I had no intention of doing that however."

"When I got home, to Ivarstead, I found a note waiting for me on the table. Sparing you the boring details, my dear Ros told me she was sickened at me and so ashamed of me. Sickened at what she'd read in that letter. She said she was ashamed of me, being my wife and bearing my child that she was sending the letters for divorce through my home, dumped my daughter in an orphanage and left to marry an Imperial in Riften who reckoned he had the world at his feet. I was alone, wifeless and daughter less."

Aiima was stunned; women could be callous and cold as men could be but she never expected a woman to dump her own daughter out of shame. Brandr allowed himself a look at Aiima then sighed along.

"I found my daughter in the orphanage. But by then, they knew I'd ran from the camp and refused to give her to me. The lad who had let me through was killed for 'encouraging cowardice' and because of their twisted ways, Ulfric had a personal bounty set out for my head, saying I had murdered him in my wicked ways." Seeing Aiima's shocked look, Brandr shrugged. "They hate cowardice."

"But it's not cowardice. It's doing whats best for you-"

"There's no reason trying to argue, Aiima m'dear. That's the way the world is." But then, sadness overtook his features. "I wasn't letting them keep Saelta. To hell with being a wanted fugitive, my daughter meant more to me then jail or my conscience. I wasn't leaving her with strangers for love nor money. So I used my talents the army taught me and slaughtered everybody in the orphanage."

Whispering, Aiima lent forwards. "Even the kids?"

She'd been acquainted with child murderers and rapists before but somehow if she learnt Brandr had killed innocent children there would be a certain uneasiness around him now. Instead, he recoiled from her.

"Of course not! Do you think I am a monster? No, I told them to hide. They trusted Saelta and after learning I was her father, they did what I said." He stared at the fire. "I took Saelta and we ran from Ivarstead. Since then, there's been a bounty on my head."

There was a silence after he finished his story. Aiima felt a little better and a little worse for knowing their story. Better came from she could understand Brandr and Saelta now and not accidentally broach the subject of Saelta's bitch of a mother without upsetting the child.

The bad thing was now Aiima was in way too deep. She cared for these people, despite her reluctance to do so. She felt strange around the idea of dropping them, leaving them to die if she needed to run. Which was why she scooted closer to Brandr and smiled.

"You know, each Hold tracks its crime separately." Brandr looked up, interested. "I am a wanted criminal in both Hjaalmarch and the Rift but in the other holds I am a free woman (to their knowledge, she added to herself slyly. Sometimes crimes went unnoticed in Whiterun and Markarth). As long as you have no committed crime in the other Holds then you are welcome to forge a life out for yourself."

Brandr sat up a little straight, fingers absently tugging a loose thread of his tunic. "I did not know that."

"Only people with a bounty in more then one hold know that, Brandr." Aiima shared a laugh with the ex-Stormcloak and moved closer to him. Their shoulders touched but the feeling was purely platonic; unknowingly tonight she had forged a bond with Brandr that would possibly be nighon impenetrable. She swallowed tightly and it was as if she'd floated from her body, and she was watching herself say this. "We could leave this cottage and head for Whiterun. I can take a carriage to Riften-" And extract my revenge. "-and you and Saelta can forge a life out together, until she's old enough to leave on her own." Seeing his confused look, she smiled. "For the College. In Winterhold. And we can part as unlikely friends."

Brandr grinned once more. "We can live again?" He whispered faintly, eyes alive, dancing with visions of a white picket fence and his daughter, growing and maturing in the beautiful city of Whiterun. Whiterun stirred up uneasy memories for Aiima, of Jorrvaskr and Vilkas but she was prepared to face those memories again, to kick her fear in the head and scream from the rooftops.

"You can."

**A/N: DRAGONS! FINALLY!**

**This is set a few weeks or so after the Helgen attack and everyone is not living under a rock (*cough* Aiima, Saelta and Brandr *cough*) have accepted their existence. **

**Here's some important or just generally interesting information: the Dragonborn was literally a few meters away from Aiima and Saelta in the clearing they just didn't see him or her. He or she (I have not decided on the sex yet) was the one who spooked the rabbit, not the dragon, and he or she will play an important part later in the story. Or will he/she... **

**Also: Brandr's wife may or may not crop up again. Aiima is going to Riften after all... [evil cackle]**

**The dragon, to the best of my dragon speaking abilities, said this:**

**_The Dragonborn. You are here, in Skyrim. You cannot save the humans. You will fail._**

**And finally, thank you guys for reaching the end, go have a cookie, follow this story and try to calm down for the next chapter which will be updated as soon as possible. **


	5. Down the Yellow Brick Road

**A/N: Hello guys! So SO sorry for the delay but this has been the hardest chapter to write to date. I've had loads of homework and schools been a pain and I had already planned it out but then at the last minute realized there'd been no action so I included some brutal fight scenes and ended up having to delay some introduction. Also big warning, blood and gore described so if you're a little squeamish I'd advise you skip that or just skip this chapter. **

**Anyway, enough with the excuses and on with the show!**

"_You can't throw me out!" Aiima had begged the man, her landlord, with his grey face and smirk that urged to be cut off. "You can't!"_

"_Girl, you have not paid the rent four months in a row. I can't let you stay there."_

_The argument had raged on for what seemed like hours, in the snow filled realm of Windhelm. Aiima was getting more and more desperate, desperate to keep her home, the home she had shared with her mother for all of her life. It wasn't just a home, it was sanctuary. The walls and ceilings had life. There was the bed her mother had birthed her in. The floors in which her sisters and brothers had learnt to walk. The patch of garden surrounded by a chain link iron and stone fence in which her and her mother had picked snowberries and where she had played with her siblings during the sparse warm days. In these turbulent times, when Aiima had felt as dead as draugr, lifelessly prowling the ruins of her house the walls and floors had breathed life into her. Life enough to carry on and stop herself from slicing her veins._

_If she lost the house she lost it all. And this compulsion forced her on her knees. The snow melted into her ragged dress and the coldness turned to damp and she stared up at the man with all her might._

"_Please." Her voice was broken, cracked. "Don't throw me out."_

_It didn't work. She found herself on the streets a fortnight later. In her later years around the fire with her clan she couldn't blame the man; he was simply trying to keep himself above the water, above the rising cost of living. And if that involved slinging a thirteen year old girl onto the streets then so be it. His family had to eat. And she regretted what she had done to him. _

_But Aiima, so young, just learning how harsh the world could be to a girl, hated him. _

_Which is why she vowed revenge. And the thirst for revenge kept her alive. _

* * *

"-then Svaknir the poet wrote a song calling Olaf One-Eye out on his lies and all copies of the verse were burned by the King. Some people have theories that there's on buried in Olaf's tomb but come on... why would the man keep something so damning near his grave?"

Saelta finished her story breathlessly as she clambered over the rocks in the forest trying desperately to keep up with her father and Aiima. It was midday and they'd been walking for hours. With empty stomachs but rested eyes, the trio had finally summoned their courage to leave the cottage and head for Whiterun. The lure of Whiterun was too much for the trio to resist but they were hungry. So hungry... Aiima was practically salivating over the thought of her worst foods, the dreaded boiled crème treats.

It had been two days since Aiima had told Brandr that he could live again and the day after he told Saelta; she'd been so excited that she screamed and flung herself into her fathers arms, almost toppling him over. His belly aching laughs almost gave Aiima cause to bend in the bucket and vomit. When Brandr revealed it was in fact Aiima's genius, Saelta had done the same thing to her. Displays of affection were rare to Aiima so she didn't know how to react when Saelta's body slammed into hers. She stood there, swaying a little under Saelta's sudden but minor weight and listened as she felt Saelta breath into her ear excitedly; "You can teach me how to hunt in our new garden." Frozen with fear as if Saelta was a guard instead of a girl, Aiima had patted the girl on the head like a cat.

Since then Saelta had never shut up. She'd talked and talked and talked, about stories of dragons, kings, queens, Dwemer, snow elves, dungeons, mages, alchemists, warriors and necromancers... everybody who had ever gone into Skyrim's books as a myth, legend or even – albeit rarely - the truth had been mentioned. Saelta's favourite stories were the ones deep rooted in complete and utter fiction, yet in light of recent times perhaps the dragon and King Olaf One-Eye's story wasn't total codswallop.

Aiima listened only sometimes as she was delirious with hunger. They'd devoured the last of their scraps and were surviving solely on crushed flowers and grass. It wasn't healthy and it didn't fill their stomachs but it helped. She'd survived in the wild before but in different conditions; when she was younger, in her hometown of Windhelm the grounds were cold enough for snowberries to grow. Nutritious and delicious, she'd spent months living of it rather happily. But here... here near the border of Morthal into Whiterun it was warmer. The only thing that grew was flowers. No fruit. Nothing to make Saelta's stomach to stop grumbling and the constant conversations about food to stop. Aiima just hoped they'd run into elk.

Yesterday, Aiima had doubled back on herself and picked up the bow and arrows from the clearing where the dragon had swooped down. She felt apprehensive in case it was still there but there was no sign of the dragon in either sky or on land. The knotted ball in her stomach loosened and she'd retrieved the arrows and strapped the bow to her back. This was a start.

Returning to present, Aiima watched with a sickening feeling of true horror as Saelta, carried away in another tale about the mechanics the Dwemer built, fell from the rock that seemed much higher now that she had suddenly disappeared.

"Saelta!"

The combined cry of Brandr and Aiima echoed throughout the forest. The blood went cold in Aiima's body and she took off, faster then she'd ever ran in her life. Aiima could hear Brandr behind her, groaning with each thud of his good foot on the ground and the air puffing out of him. Of course, Aiima reached the edge of the cliff first and peered down; the absurd maternal instinct took flight as soon as it had arrived as Saelta lay on the floor, mere inches from the rock sprawled on her back.

Aiima hauled her up to her feet and brushed dirt from her. "Watch where you're going next time, you clumsy girl!"

"Sorry." Sheepishly, Saelta glanced to the floor then hurried over to her father to reassure him.

"You stupid girl!" He said, pulling Saelta into his arms and checking her for bruises. Brandr said but he didn't act like he was being aggressive; Brandr was the type of father who preferred the gentle hand and soft voice instead of a sharp smack like most parents. Their relationship was built on mutual trust and a genuine fondness for one another Aiima couldn't believe; her own father had treated with a sense of detached loyalty. He did love her in his own way but he never showed it. Aiima could not remember if he had ever hugged her or told her he loved her or gave her some sign of affection. It was her mother who had loved her truly.

"I'm sorry, father. It won't happen again. I wasn't looking where I was going. I was thinking about Ragnar the Red." Shyly, Saelta looked up at him as if butter wouldn't melt. "Could you sing it again?"

Brandr tutted loudly but to sate his daughter, he ruffled her hair and launched into the song without another word. Aiima sighed as she had already heard the song a thousand times as they walked and carried on listlessly, attempting in vain to forget her rumbling stomach.

After hearing out of tune singing and then a some lines later Saelta joining in with a clear, sweet voice, they both called her. Aiima turned.

"What?" She said, a little sharper then she'd intended. It didn't phase them both, though; they just stood there grinning at her like members of a cult.

"Aiima! Daddy's forgotten the song! What did the shield-maiden Matilda say to Ragnar at the inn?" Aiima sighed. From the way Saelta's eyes were glinting and the way Brandr had raised his eyebrows, she knew fully well what the next line was. They just wanted her to sing it.

Playing along reluctantly, Aiima took a bow and let her voice fly: "'_Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead/ Now I think it's high that you lie down and bleed!_'" Saelta let out a laugh more precious then gold and raced over the rocks towards Aiima. She skidded to a halt in front of her and breathlessly, the pair continued the verse together.

_And so then came clashing and slashing of steel  
As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal_

Aiima and Saelta took a breath, and when they started again, Brandr joined in. The three voices, two rough and ragged, one sweet and youthful, melted together to create a harmony that was perfectly in sync and sounded rather beautiful:

_And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more-  
When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!_

Saelta laughed so hard she cried and Brandr scooped her up, staggering slightly under her combined weight with his leg. Aiima turned away, attempting not to smirk and failing terribly.

* * *

It was evening and Aiima was reluctant to let Brandr take first watch as he'd been complaining of his leg hurting, but she was exhausted from defending their camp and agreed to a few hours sleep. Aiima clutched the bear fur they'd stole from the cottage and made her perch under the rock Brandr was sitting on. Saelta was in his lap, dozing softly into the fur of his cloak. Aiima heard the whispered goodnight from Saelta but she was gone, away in the land of dreams where all was well.

In her dreams, she was back with the clan. It was dark, the stars in the sky twinkling and the aurora green and bright in the distance. The firelight illuminated her camp mates faces and she saw them all looking at them as if they were her true kin; Ra'reed sitting next to her picking at bread, Beldre beside him coughing into a rag, the Orc twins Shadbo and Shadbu glaring at everyone and eating their meat raw, Saffron glancing at Sven with all her lusty might, young Sevya grinning and poking the fire and finally Sven himself, casting a smile in Aiima's direction.

In their twisted and perverted ways they were her family. Her siblings had succumbed to rattles in a harsh winter and when her mother's body had cleared, Aiima had been a lonely wanderer, looking for a purpose in life. Sven had given her that purpose, allowing her to upgrade from a simple washer women who cleaned the rags and repaired the weapons to a integrated member into the bandit clan. And more importantly, it gave her a new family.

Despite Sven's fatherly guidance, her best friend in the clan was most certainly Ra'reed. Ra'reed was a Khajiit, with a strong accent and ivory fur. Aiima remembered his fur as shaggy and thick, wiry like the bear fur she was holding in her sleep. His eyes were a bright yellow and he used to tell her constantly when he was drunk that his people in his homeland said they looked like the sun reflecting of the sand. His tail was long and Aiima could feel the impression, the soft tickling fur as it curled around her back and swished like a clock back and forth behind Ra'reed.

She had immediately struck Ra'reed from the list of suspects who had betrayed her that was currently resting in her pocket. She in no way, shape or form believed he would betray her like that. He may have been the best thief the clan had but he was morally correct man; he never stole from the poor, he never killed if he could help it and he always looked for the least violent solution to the problem.

Sevya was also crossed out as a suspect. A Redguard with a crop of dark hair, she was only sixteen and Aiima had trained her personally. Her sister had been executed wrongfully by the authorities in Hammerfell and she was on the run. She came to Riften seeking sanctuary and both Aiima and Sven had recruited her. She looked up to Aiima like a sister and would never seek to hurt her.

The jury was out on the twins though. Shadbo, the male twin who wielded two warhammers and spoke in a serious of educated grunts, would neither have the smarts nor the sheer intelligence to hire two mercenaries to kidnap her. Shadbu however, the female twin, was a cunning little sod who treated the bandit camp as expendables and had maybe wrongly guessed Aiima was privy to information about this _it _the kidnappers wanted to find. If Shadbu was involved in this, then more than likely her brother would be involved as well. Her brother couldn't do anything like this on his own but the twins shared everything so if Shadbu needed to kill someone, Shadbo would have either killed that someone or known about it.

Beldre the Dark Elf was a good man but Aiima wasn't sure if he was fond of her; he was a long distance fighter therefore suspicious aroused to why he had paid for hired muscle to torture her. He would never manage something like this on his own. But the question was still in the air; how would Beldre know about something like this? And why did he suspect Aiima knew where this thing was?

Saffron was high on the list. Suspicious by nature – possibly due to her secret skooma addiction – she would do anything to protect the bandit clan, or more specifically Sven. She loved Sven and the pair had a very turbulent relationship; one could never tell if Sven hated her or loved her. She believed Saffron would do something like this (she was violent one) but why would she hire someone to do it? Surely it would've been quicker do to the job by her own hand?

Sven wasn't very high but he was still on it. He was their leader and he was an extremely violent man. Pacifism didn't register with Sven and he had a very simple motto which the camp lived by; _if you want something, take it and to hell with consequences. _Would he do something like this? She wasn't sure. Saffron and Beldre were her main suspects.

In her dream, she looked upon her friends and family with a more uneasy gaze. One of them knew who had betrayed her. And she couldn't just walk into the camp, guns blazing and demand answers. She needed to think about it tactically. Who could conjure up information out of thin air? Who was aligned with the bandit camp or close enough to get information?

The questions were answered in her dream, when a particular ginger haired Nord flashed in her subconscious.

* * *

When Brandr woke her to take her shift, the grey dawn of a new day was unfolding and the air was crisp with bitter wind. She bid Brandr good morning and took his place on the rock, perched high above to watch for any hostile visitors. The bow and arrows were in her lap and she was comforted only by her thoughts of revenge. She took charcoal and parchment from her pocket, lifted from the cottage and quickly sketched out a note in her best handwriting, vowing to find a courier when they landed in Whiterun:

_To Brynjolf,_

_I have an urgent message that I need to deliver to you, but in case this message is intercepted by anybody who wishes to do us both harm I can only do it in person. _

_Things have changed, B, and I intend to change with them. One of my clan has betrayed me. They think I am dead. _

_I will be in Whiterun when this message reaches you. If you will let me see you, please send a message with the courier back to Whiterun. I will then take the carriage to Riften and meet at the enclosed location. Please hurry as if they discover I am alive and where I am they will hurt two innocent people. _

_I know this is extremely vague but it is of great importance and to be honest I would like to speak with you again old friend._

_With love,_

_Aiima_

She jumped a few miles in the air when Saelta made a coughing sound behind her.

"What's that?" The child asked, gesturing to the note. Aiima quickly stowed it in her pocket.

"Just a reminder to myself." She narrowed her eyes at Saelta. "Are you okay?"

She didn't look okay. She was even frailer then Aiima remembered when she saw her. Her small skeletal frame was shrinking in on herself and her eyes were gaunt and dead, holding none that childish innocence she had seen yesterday when she was singing.

"I'm hungry."

Aiima knew exactly how she felt. Her belly was empty too, so much that she had trouble thinking straight.

"I know." In a flash of madness she grabbed Saelta and pulled her down to sit next to her. Saelta smiled sadly and placed her head on Aiima's shoulders. "So am I."

It was so cold that their breathing rose in a steam of mist. Aiima huffed, pretending to be a dragon, and Saelta giggled. Saelta then tried herself but as her breath blew in a ring she raised her hands and they glowed white. The glow turned the mist into a small sketch of a dragon, that flapped its wings and swirled around their heads.

Saelta turned her head and grinned.

Saelta was truly one of the gifted magical Nords that existed in Skyrim. They were extremely rare as the Nord race was normally the fighting race and usually it was the Bretons and the High Elves who commanded natural authority over magic. She did not belong in the wild with her injured father, hunting deer to stay alive. She belonged at the College in Winterhold, learning her talent and mastering it. She would be an asset to the college and she'd probably become a teacher. Professor Saelta... Aiima laughed to herself. She'd go down in history if they'd let her.

But life was life and life wasn't fair. It had handed Saelta the short stick, the unlucky path leading to a rocky road of life and she just had to stick to it and pray things got better. It made Aiima sad to think that Saelta would probably never get the chance to let herself shine.

_Perhaps you could help them. Stay in Whiterun with them both. Watch Saelta grow into a young woman. Marry Brandr. _

Aiima pushed the nauseating and frankly painful thoughts out of her head. She couldn't stay. Fair enough she had stayed with them longer then she had imagined. She was prepared to drop them both like dead weight if they slowed her down merely a few days ago. Yes, as much as she hated to admit it she genuinely liked the gentle pacifist ex-soldier and his prodigy daughter. Visions of gardens and picket fences and happy families danced in her mind but they were just out of reach. Where Aiima should stand, the mother to Saelta, the wife to Brandr, her face was blank. Their family, their lives together was just beginning but Aiima had lived enough for a thousand men. She had been through so much. She'd been a thousand things, a killer, a fighter, a lover, a thief, a bandit. The pages of her book were filled. There was only room for one more chapter.

Revenge.

Aiima's world was not a world a child should grow up in. And if she really wanted to admit it, she did want to see Saelta grow up.

"Are you magical?" Saelta asked suddenly, stirring Aiima out of her thoughts. Aiima looked at her as if she had remembered she was sitting there and shook her head.

"Nah." She gave a nervous laugh. "I'm completely useless at magic. I'm a fighter."

Saelta looked down sadly. "I wish I was a fighter. I can barely hold a bow."

Aiima knocked Saelta's form with her shoulder slightly, making her laugh. "Come on now. You are one of a kind, Saelta. Unique. All of us Nords are warriors and archers. It's about time we had some magic in our lives."

"But people are horrible to others who try and be different." Saelta amended sadly. "In our village there was a man who loved a Dark Elf. And his mother disowned. Said she couldn't bear that her son loved a greyface. That's awful. It's not his fault that he fell in love with her. Have you ever been in love?"

_Damn this child's curiousity._

Aiima sighed. "Once."

Saelta grinned and failed to catch that she was making Aiima reminisce. "Who? Did you get married? Is he waiting for you at home? Is that why-"

"Saelta, Saelta, stop with the questions." Saelta silenced herself but grinned even wider; Aiima laughed.

"Fine. He was... well, he would be a Companion, probably a member of the Circle now but back then he and his brother had just joined. His name was Vilkas. And no, we did not marry." Her voice sounded faint even to her, as she was lost on the shores of her memory. "We were both not the marrying type."

"Oh. That's sad."

"Yes, child. It's quite sad."

Saelta swallowed this information with a sated curiousity then looked up at her through her eyelashes and pressed her lips together.

"Did you love him?"

_No point in lying. _"Yes I did. Very much."

"Do you still love him?"

"No."

"What happened? Did he die?"

"No no he is very much alive." Aiima took a breath and condensed the story down. "I... I was offered a work placement in Riften. A man named Sven asked me to join his bandit clan as a repairwomen for the archers. Vilkas disapproved of my choice and tried to get me to move in at the Companions Hall in Whiterun. I didn't want to; I don't like being tied to something or someone. So I left in the night."

"Without telling him? No note?"

"No note. I just left."

Aiima focused her attention on the sunrise, as the grey blank canvas slowly turned into a brighter one. The wilderness around them came to life in the morning and in the distance Aiima could hear the _chick-chick-chick _of a mudcrabs claws clicking together and the sound of a bird taking flight from a tree. The forest from Hjaalmarch to Whiterun Hold was truly a beautiful one. They'd soon cross the borders and be free to pursue their lives.

Movement stirred Aiima's vision and she turned back to witness Saelta shaking her head.

"What?" Aiima asked, wondering for a mad moment if she'd gotten some of the details of her own story wrong.

"That wasn't very nice of you."

"No it wasn't child. But I was not a very nice person back then. I hope I am better now."

There was a moment of silence then Saelta spoke in a childishly confident voice.

"Aiima?"

"Yes?"

"I think you're a very nice person." She said, before snuggling her face into the side of Aiima's arm. After a moment, she lifted it and Saelta placed her head against Aiima's chest, her breathing becoming slow and rhythmic and she slowly fell asleep.

* * *

They marched onwards.

They'd crossed the border into Whiterun Hold a few hours ago and allowed themselves a moment of celebration. The change in scenery was slowly making them feel more positive as life was more active here and Aiima could see a few deers in the distance. Her mouth began to flood with thoughts of calves, slow roasting on an open fire with fat dripping down the sides...

The lack of food caused them all to be lethargic and slow to respond. If they were attacked there was a small nagging worry that they would be unable to defend themselves. Aiima had the bow but was physically almost unable to stand straight, Brandr had a dagger but he was slow to slice due to his leg and Saelta had her magic but she was too young to have any solid battle instincts. Aiima really began to worry when the sun began to fade and in the distance Aiima could see the Silent Moons Camp, home of the legendary Lunar forge.

"What is that?"

Aiima could recognize the signs of a bandit camp from a mile away. "A bandit camp. Pretty powerful one as well."

Saelta asked before her father could. "How can you tell?"

Silent Moons Camp was a strange place. It was home to the Lunar forge which had a special enchantment that made weapons work better when the moon was waxing. Made entirely of stone, the place was an underground fortress for any willing bandits. The above ground layer was built into a hill and behind it mountains hid it from view. The top level of the above ground was the forge, a rounded stone room with a straw roof, a hole near the left to allow the heat from the forge to escape into the air. The middle level was a platform to the left of the stairs, where two archers patrolled on either side of the stairs so they could see anybody approaching for miles. The bottom level had a fire, the orange glow which people could see from miles away and people sitting around the fire, consuming food and laughing.

"Well look. The fires in the open meaning they don't care if guards see it." Brandr raised his eyebrows at her and Aiima relented. "Well it means they've got a big enough force to hold them off until their reinforcements arrive."

"Reinforcements? I can count four and two are too busy eating."

Aiima pointed to the door on the bottom level, across from the people at the fire. "It's a an underground fortress, Brandr. The above ground is nothing, the foot soldiers. You send the weakest ones in first they you bring out the big guns. Surely you learnt that in war."

Brandr nodded. "We'll have to go past them."

Aiima placed her head in her hands and sighed, rubbing her hands across her face then removing them to pat her collarbone, reminding herself of the protruding bones.

"We can't."

"Why?"

"They have food Brandr. And water. And we have none. The deer will be too spooked from these idiots-" She flung her hand in the direction of the bandits. "-making noise and your daughter will not be able to survive much longer without water."

Brandr looked towards his daughter; the man was a open book, he'd be terrible if he knew any information and they tortured him. He wouldn't have to be hurt they'd just have to mention Saelta and they'd tell him everything.

"So we're gonna go up to them and what, ask for food? Ask for water?"

Aiima shrugged, liking the idea. "It's not a bad idea. I could tell them who I am, who I work for. Worked." She added, remembering she was currently unemployed.

"Or-" Saelta's childish voice made them both whirl their heads to her. "I could scare them into killing each other off."

There was silence. Aiima was mulling over the idea, and almost instinctively her eyes met Brandr's. He liked that idea better then his own.

"How?" Aiima had never used magic to get herself out of a sticky situation before and she was just opening herself up to all of the wondrous possibilities.

"I cast a spell on the camp called Frenzy and they all start attacking each other."

Aiima, nodding, added to the plan. "Then we calm the last man standing, take his food and slit his throat! Brilliant! Saelta you are a genius."

She smiled proudly.

Brandr was unsure. "Sweetheart, have you ever used this spell before?"

"Of course." Brandr straightened his back, surprised. "I tried it on some ants in the orphanage."

This made Aiima less confident.

* * *

An hour later, the plan was in position. They'd sneaked a little closer to the camp and Saelta was ready, closing her eyes and murmuring gibberish. Aiima was up in a tree directly above Saelta, keeping guard in case the spell didn't work. Brandr was hidden somewhere on guard, protecting his daughter.

When another bandit joined the two men drinking and laughing near the fire, Aiima took this as a sign and kicked the lower branch as hard as she could. An apple fell to the floor nearly hitting Saelta's head. Saelta's eyes shot open and she prepared the spell, an aggressive looking black and red orb of magic forming in her hands.

She raised up to a standing position and Aiima quickly scanned the bandits to see if any had realized she was there. When no one moved, Aiima whistled once, barely above a whisper. Saelta fired.

The spell moved quicker then Saelta had anticipated and she was barely hidden when the spell crashed against a wall and enveloped the bandit clan in a red haze. Aiima heard yelps and screams as the spell took hold, then the song of steel began.

Saelta clambered up the tree and sat beside Aiima.

"Did it work?" She asked excitedly, looking at the camp with a sick sort of pride. Aiima nodded.

"See for yourself."

They watched in a fascinated horror as the bandit camp began to tear itself apart like dogs on meat. The two archers immediately turned to one another and yelling some intelligible babble that was impossible to understand began a deadly contest of who-could-fire-quicker. The archer on the right won and threw his once-friend's dead corpse down the stone steps in a show of victory. The head hit the floor and the skull cracked like an egg, spilling brains and blood across the stone. Aiima covered Saelta's eyes as she winced at the crack.

The bandits on the ground suddenly jumped to standing position and began a bloody three way battle with fists. One man in studded armour threw a punch at the next man, who blocked it and pushed the heel of his hand up to the other man's nose. The archer reached them but one of them turned away from and caught him off guard, throwing what looked like a steel chamberpot at his head. The resounding crack made the archer fall to the ground and the man who threw the pot stamped on his head. Three were left and two had gotten weapons, one a mace and the other an axe.

They fought like animals, tooth and nail, fighting to the death. Not one of them stopped to question why he was suddenly fighting the people he'd been sharing mead with. That was the beauty and the horror of illusion magic; it took away the free will that made you human, reducing you to no more then a puppet dancing for its master.

Mace man swung at axe man, but he swung to hard and staggered. The axe man then swung to the side of the mace man's body and hit, slicing through the side causing the blade to come out of the other side. The mace man fell to the floor, bleeding and moaning and the axe man proceeded to hack into his body screaming swear words and telling him what he really thought. Aiima winced. That must've hurt.

The man without a weapon was a big bulky man, built like a bull. He advanced behind the man with the axe and from the tree, the safe haven in which they were watching they saw his bloodthirsty smirk. He pulled his hand back and punched his fist clean through the man's body, and with his fist drenched in blood and as the axe man attempted to figure out why he had a hand through his stomach, he pulled it out.

The axe man dropped his axe and the last man standing booted his body into the fire. If he wasn't hurting already, the he was in a world of pain. His screams were amplified across the silent night until they slowly faded away as he was turned into a charred corpse.

Aiima had seen some horrific things but that had to be up there on the list. She glanced down at the young girl in her arms and adjusted her judgement. The girl was a true Nord, just as blood thirsty as the rest of them in an alarmingly different way. It scared Aiima to tell the truth, that a young girl could do so much damage.

Aiima and Saelta regrouped some distance from the camp, watching as the victor stood and panted, his fists bloodier then the battle fields of the war.

"That was horrible." Brandr voiced Aiima's very thoughts. Aiima nodded, the hollow stomach feeling replaced with a bit of sickness. "I have a strong stomach but that was... horrible."

"Come on. We better calm him down."

They advanced across the plains towards the camp slowly, as the victor stood and looked a little dazed. Aiima guessed the spell had worn off as he was a little confused when Aiima entered the camp first, arms raised in surrender.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. My name is Aiima." She said, as if she was speaking to a child. "I am not here to harm you. I'm just here to take some food."

Aiima's blood was weaving its way through her body as her heart struggled to keep up with her breathing. Her heart was thudding so fast but she tried not to look scared as she advanced into the camp.

The victor grunted and turned slightly towards her.

"Just a little food. My daughter-" Aiima had agreed to pretend that Saelta was her daughter if they ran into anybody. "-hasn't eaten in days. I'm just going to take enough to tide us over until we get to Whiterun. I'll leave some for you."

He grunted again, a little more passionately. She wasn't sure if he actually understood her language. Aiima quickly went to the table with the food without his blessing

Aiima slowly turned her back on the man and spotted the bread on the table. She forget all of her thoughts and picked it up, mouth filling with saliva. The sickness faded and the empty stomach returned. Aiima almost moaned out loud when she saw that underneath the clean linen wraps was some grilled chicken, leeks and boiled potatoes on a plate. She filled the bag she had brought with her up with it, visions of a full stomach growing in her mind and the taste of-

"AIIMA WATCH OUT!"

Aiima whirled at the sound of Saelta's strangled voice but a fist met her face instead. When it connected with her cheek, her brain paused and she was suddenly on standby unable to function. She felt as if she had been in an explosion, as her ears rang so loudly and she was dazed the world a blur of orange and red and pain. She staggered against the table, vision blurred, nerves numb, trying desperately to hold onto conscience.

Birds tweeted and bells rang in her ears. She'd never been hit so hard before. This man either had a horseshoe shoved down his sleeve or had been born with iron knuckles. She slipped and fell to the ground, ears ringing harder. Her vision cleared slightly but her head tilted like a ship on choppy waters.

"Saelta."

What Aiima saw was a blonde blur running towards her, crying and screaming. The blur was suddenly hauled backwards and thrown across the stone ground. Somewhere, Aiima's heart recognized it was Saelta as it sank when she heard the crunch of breaking bones and Saelta's high pitched scream that could wake the dead. The fire suddenly rose into a column of flames as the magic within Saelta reacted to the pain like she did. The stone around her grew warm and she began to sweat heavily dripping from her like a waterfall.

Someone screeched her name. Low and rough. A man. A dark shaped advanced onto the bigger bull shape. Aiima, over the birds and the bells, heard the man grunt and try to throw him off.

That absurd maternal instinct was back, stronger then she'd ever felt. She'd heard stories of women doing superhuman things to save their children but she'd never believed it. Now she could. Somehow, she forced her body to standing position although every nerve told her to lie back down and let the darkness take her. Sweat dripped from her forehead and her back. Blood poured from an open gash in her mouth and she could taste it, that sickening metallic twang on the tongue. She spat a glob of blood out onto the floor and staggered with all her might towards Saelta who was still screaming, her right leg sticking in a completely unnatural angle.

The man spotted Aiima and threw Brandr off his back, causing him to fall backwards and crack his head against the stone work. The thud caused Aiima's heart to sink and she summoned her strength, running towards the man and forgetting Saelta's existence for a moment.

They battled. Aiima jumped up to get him but the man saw what she was doing and caught her, slamming her onto the table where the food had been. Saelta was still screaming as Aiima crashed onto the table and the legs broke under her weight. On the floor, in a heap of wood and broken plates his hand encircled her throat and ears still ringing, vision still clouded, the pressure of his hand began to make the air leave her body. Her eyes bulged and she began to splutter, kicking at him and using her hands to try and get him off her.

It didn't work. The world was going dark. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning on land, like a fish out of water. She cried out wordlessly and kept kicking, kicking harder and harder. _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die._

Until she caught his balls. The sudden sharp kick to the balls caused him to yell in surprise and relinquish his hold on her. He was stunned. Aiima took a moment to cough and swallow the sweet, sweet air that surrounded her and then she tackled the man with all her might in the column of fire.

The fire caught the end of her fingers but it engulfed the victor. He was surrounded his flames and his body began to cook, the smell of roasting pork filled the air mixed with his screams of pain and pleas for mercy. Aiima watched nonchalantly as the charred corpse fell to the ground and the fire slowly died out, returning back to its original size.

She could hear Saelta's sobbing but the strength had gone. She staggered.

"Oh fuck."

Aiima knew she was going to keel over. There was only so much her body could take in one night. Blood filled her mouth again and she tried to spit it out but she was so weak it fell out of her mouth and dripped down her chin.

"Saelta..." Her speech was a whisper. "Get help-"

The thud of another body hit the floor and Aiima silenced. Then night was still and dark once, as the fire crackled and popped as it ate up the victors body and the wood.

Saelta sobbed into the darkness, alone once more.

**A/N DUN DUN DUNN!**

**I love putting my characters through pain and strife. It's great!**

**Full descriptions of the bandit camp are CRUCIAL so pay attention as they will be appearing again. Or will they...**

**Anyway, so next chapter we have introductions from a very famous faction so stay tuned for that. Also yay canon character has been mentioned. Brynjolf is my fave.**

**Will this make you review/favourite/follow? Because it should. **

**Tell me what I did wrong, tell me what I did right, tell me what you hated, tell me what you loved. Just tell me some generic comment about your day I don't mind. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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